


When the stars threw down their spears

by Nobodystormcrow



Series: Tyger, Tyger [1]
Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Dirge of Cerberus: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe—Canon Divergence, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Complicated Platonic Relationships, Deepground, Double SI, Felicia and Elfé are different people, Ganjiang and Moye, Gen, Genjutsu, Hojo is His Own Warning, Hojo’s first name is Professor, I’m talking about Argento, Kanshou and Bakuya, References to Norse Religion & Lore, SI/OC, Wutai worldbuilding, and mundane mental fuckery, compassion as strength, fewer parents die here than in canon, good parenting, quiet resistance, reconnecting with your birth culture, spider eating, subtle and unconventional methods of revenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26754136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nobodystormcrow/pseuds/Nobodystormcrow
Summary: AKA Please let my sister be a Mary SueI'm your typical nerdy guy--fine, fanboy, who got chosen by Minerva to save the world (or at least change it, given that Cloud's still here and better adjusted than I am). The thing is, apart from my near-encyclopedic knowledge of FFVII, I'm terrible at my job, even with special powers (as you probably expected—I mean, I'm not Protagonist material).Throw in the fact that my parents named me Verde, and honestly, I was pretty much doomed from birth. Because guess what naming scheme that fits to?Rosso, Shelke, Azul, Weiss, Nero, Argento.Yeah, I was hoping that Deepground didn't exist too. Sadly, no such luck. And now I have to figure out how to save the world while trapped in the closest thing you can get to hell.Help.My only hope is my sister, who is studying Mako-molecular-biology or some other suspiciously plot-relevant subject, so (I can't believe I'm making this wish)...pleaseletmysisterbeaMarySue,pleaseletherbeaMarySue
Series: Tyger, Tyger [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1997683
Comments: 40
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1

I died. Don’t ask me how, I don’t want to think about it, but it marked an end to a short and average life as an anime and games fanboy.

Death was nice, pleasantly painless as I floated through a starlit void, until I found myself faced with an elaborately dressed woman in gold and blue and white.

Whoa. Wait a sec. Rewind. Gold and blue armor. Flowing white robes—

—What the hell!?! Was I actually alive and hallucinating while in a coma? I recognized this woman!

“You know who I am.” She stated.

“Ye—yeah, you’re Minerva, the Goddess from FFVII.” I frowned, “Or you’re just something from my fever brain—no offense if you’re real, but you’re a video game character.”

“Perhaps.” She allowed, “You know the fate of my world.”

At that, my brain or maybe magic conjured up images around us, JENOVA and Sephiroth and Meteor and Remnants and Deepground and Omega and Chaos and Aerith and Cloud and the Lifestream.

“I think I do.” I agreed warily, “And so?”

She looked at me gravely, _desperately_ , “I do not want such a doom. You can act—please, would you?”

This was either the craziest trip ever, or a second lease on life, and…her raw desperation—I may have been an average guy, but I did dream about being the knight in shining armor, and even if I didn’t, well, nobody could leave someone hanging like that. I took a deep breath, “I will.”

“Thank you.” She took a shuddering breath, appearing painfully young, “ _Thank you_.”

And I knew that I had made the right decision, because anything that would all but collapse a Goddess in relief? Was definitely the right thing to do.

I waited awkwardly, but Minerva seemed to be too caught up in her own emotions. “Um, Minerva?” I asked, “What now?”

She drew herself up until she looked like a Goddess again, “You live again, my Viridian WEAPON.”

“What?” I spluttered, “How? Where? What do you mean?”

I was falling, but I heard her last words to me just as darkness closed over my head. _In Nibelheim, where it all began_.

* * *

Being born. As far as experiences go, I don’t recommend it. Being a tiny baby squished into the world feels terrible, no matter how nice it feels to be able to move your arms and legs again. Large hands wiped me off and slapped my back until I started crying, then wrapped me up in warm swaddling and handed me off to the blurry dark-haired shape who I assumed was my mother.

“Verde.” I heard the woman’s voice say, “Verde Storm, for his cute green eyes.”

“Our son.” Agreed a man's deep voice, “Verde. Rain, do you want to meet your little brother?”

“Gladly, mother.” I felt myself handed off into another’s hands.

Now, the thing about newborn babies is that their eyes are seriously useless, so all I saw of my new sister was blurry, silver flowing bangs in firelight. You can tell where I’m going with that iconic scene. Silver bangs in firelight. Being an infant with poorly developed critical thinking skills, I started screaming.

“I think that Verde doesn’t like me.” Rain? I think? murmured gently.

The woman—my mom?—laughed, “Don’t be silly, Rain! What little brother doesn’t love their big sister? Verde’s just hungry—give him to mama!”

And I was transferred to my mother’s arms. And then—oh hell no—as a warm thing was shoved into my mouth, I did my best to disappear into the back of my consciousness.

I blurred in and out of adult awareness for my first year or two of life, baby brain incapable of consistently hosting my adult mind and memories—well, apart from when silver bangs floated into my vision—they automatically triggered a panic attack until Rain made the connection and tied her hair back. I was pretty sure that I was a weird baby, inexplicably bursting into tears every time at the sight of my sister’s hair and talking/crawling/walking far too quickly, but our parents were weirdly chill about that.

They were pretty chill about everything, to be honest, though that might have been because they couldn’t afford to question a low-maintenance kid—my family was poor. And I mean fairytale, humble woodcutter poor, because dad was a woodcutter and mom was a washerwoman, both professions that were getting slowly displaced by Shinra’s cheap Mako electricity powered heating and washing machines. We managed to never skip meals, but mom unraveled all of our sweaters every spring and knit them again every autumn to save yarn, and despite our parents’ insistence that she did not have to, Rain bent over embroidery commissions all the time to support our finances.

* * *

December, the Yule Market. Mom and Rain were manning a small stall selling decorations and herbal concoctions and roasted rabbit, while dad took me browsing.

“Can you keep a secret, Verde?” Dad asked me as I sat on his shoulders.

“Yep, dad.”

“It’ll be your sister’s birthday soon.” He weighed a small pouch of Gil in his hand, “We haven’t spent as much time with her as we should, so neither your mom nor I know what Rain will like. I was hoping that you could help me choose a present for her.”

I thought about it. Rain, my big/little sister, was terribly serious and responsible, spending most of her time trying to help our parents and take care of me. But I knew that she loved books—although she seemed to be managing her literature intake just fine by borrowing from Mayor Lockhart’s collection every other day and occasionally pouring over suspicious tomes with titles like _Molecular Biology: Principles and Practice_. I suddenly remembered something. I did my best not to think about Rain’s long silver hair and how almost everyone with that hair color was related to Sephiroth in some way, but she would always finger-comb her hair far longer than necessary before tying it back, and often sleeked it down with water throughout the day. Rain loved neatness, and with that, I arrived at the perfect gift for her.

“A comb.” I realized, “Rain would love a comb.”

Dad considered it for a moment, “You’re right, Verde, that would be perfect!” He turned, and we headed off towards the accessories’ stalls.

Dad held up comb after comb for my inspection, from an awesome snarling wolf that I really wanted for myself, to a sparkling, glass-gem-encrusted offering that probably more decorative than practical. Finally, we stumbled upon a comb made of antler, the back shaped like a raven’s head, about half the size of my father’s broad palm. It looked and felt sturdy, the raven’s feathers carved in intricate detail before being polished to a high gleam.

“That one.” My dad and I unanimously agreed.

“Fifteen Gil.” The vendor told us.

Dad haggled him down to ten, carefully counted out the coins, and then folded it in his handkerchief and tucked it into his jacket, next to his heart.

He then turned his head, “Is that mulled cider I smell?”

We headed off. “Five Gil a cup!” A woman yelled, presiding over two barrels, “Six for soft cider, come buy, come buy!”

“Claudia.” Dad greeted warmly, “How is business?”

“Booming.” Claudia answered, smiling warmly, golden hair and blue eyes rendering her a female copy of Cloud Strife, “Would you like a cup, Gale?”

“Yes indeed.” Dad grinned.

“Hard or soft?”

Dad weighed his money pouch, which only clinked a little, sadly, lying flat and almost empty in his hand. “Ah, I only have enough for one cup, so soft cider it is.”

Claudia nodded, “Okay, one cup of Midwife Strife’s mulled cider, coming up!”

She took a mug from the stack next to her, and ladled steaming golden liquid from one barrel into it, filling it almost to the brim, “First cup’s bonus for your son.” She winked, “And I’ll trust you to return it after you’re finished, unlike half my customers, so no deposit.”

Dad doffed his hat at her, “Thank you very much, Claudia, have a nice day!”

“You too!”

And away we went, the scent of the cider rich in the air.

After we arrived at our family stall and dad set me down, he took a sip, checking the temperature. “Like liquid gold.” He sighed, “The fourth most beautiful thing in Nibelheim, after your mother, your sister, and the dawn. Try to save some for Rain and mom, okay, Verde?”

I grinned, “Promise!”

Except that Mama Strife’s cider really _was that good_. It was as if someone had taken autumn and distilled it into a drink, then stewed it with spices until it lay as sunlight and woodsmoke upon the tongue. I all but inhaled it.

Rain just giggled, “It’s wonderful, isn’t it? Worry not, dad, we have enough for more! Doctor Crescent just came by, and she always pays handsomely for my creations—even more so upon Yuletide!”

I choked on my cider, then surreptitiously checked Rain’s eyes. Yep, still coal-black—although that meant I couldn’t see the shape of her pupils—I had never actually checked the shape of her pupils—oh no, don’t go down that rabbit hole, just because Rain looked nothing like our parents didn’t mean that she was actually a science experiment-slash-super-soldier-slash-alien—but I never saw her being born and Shinra scientists were interested in her and she was born in the same year as the Trio, and what if mom and dad found her in the cabbage patch?!?!?!!! (we didn’t have a cabbage patch…)

“Verde?” Mom asked gently, “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” I mumbled, “Just peachy.”

And not getting caught up in conspiracy theories about my lovely, Zen, well-adjusted sister who, like our parents, deserves a normal life without having the whole town burn down when Sephiroth goes crazy. How the hell was I supposed to manage to prevent that?

Think later. I was still too young to do anything anyway.

* * *

A year passed. I grew up in peace, and made friends with Cloud. Dad’s woodcutting business dwindled further, and it appeared as if he was going to turn to drink. The situation fit: he wasn’t the breadwinner anymore, mom and Rain were doing most of the money-earning, selling their needlework not just in the town, but also to traveling merchants who probably sold the gorgeous pieces for far more, and so dad was a loafer, something hard for a rugged mountain man like him to accept. He came home late, smelling of hard cider. He yelled at mom, then broke down crying.

He had not yet raised a hand to any of us, but I was sure it would have been a matter of time. The money he had spent on drinks would have destroyed our careful budget if not for an unexpected windfall Rain had received from Lucrecia Crescent—a commission, paid up front. Rain had kept the details to herself and begun work on a vast expanse of silk that she kept between oilcloth when she was focusing on other things, like helping around the house and keeping dad company when he wasn’t in one of his dark moods.

I held my breath, waiting for the tension to break in our home, still too young to do anything.

But dad didn’t become worse.

He took a seat by Rain as she embroidered a handkerchief. Taking one of her fine needles between his calloused fingers, he asked my sister, “Do you think I could learn this too?”

Rain looked shocked, and it went so quiet that you could hear a pin drop—and I meant that literally, because her needle slipped through dad’s fingers and landed on the floor with a quiet _clink_.

“Of-of course!” She said, pulling out another thread from her embroidery basket, “But you should ask mom too! She has been no less worried.”

“I will.” Dad promised, “When your mom gets back. But I just decided to do this Rain, so can you give your dad a starter course?”

“Most certainly.” Rain scrambled for the needle, then switched it out for a larger one, which she handed to dad along with the thread. “One should first know how to begin with a starting stitch…”

And that was how my family became a small embroidery guild. What the hell did you get me into, Minerva?

* * *

Lucrecia never came to pick her commission up, and I guessed that she had probably sealed herself in the crystal cave by now. Just as well, perhaps, since my sister had shown no sign of finishing her work anytime soon, simply bending over the giant undertaking whenever time permitted.

I grew up even more, and while my sister tried to teach me how to read and write, I really didn’t want to play dumb about that, so she put in a token effort and then simply brought me along when she went to the Mayor’s for books—that let me meet Tifa. As a result, Tifa, Cloud, and I were bosom buddies now, and Cloud was a lot less lonely than in canon, the suspicious looks villagers shot him for being the illegitimate son of the midwife sliding away from him like water off a duck’s back, with the duck’s back being actual friends who didn’t care about all that superstitious nonsense about his mother that sounded like it was from the Middle Ages.

There was a nasty bout of pox around my fourth birthday, which left most of us kids laid at home with high fevers until the town doctor somehow found a Cleansing Materia that Midwife Strife, the only magic user in town, used to cure us all. Surprisingly enough, that didn’t make her a hero, instead earning the poor woman even more rumors about how she was actually a witch who cursed everyone, even her son. I had been pretty out of it for the whole thing, slipping in and out of consciousness while mom switched out damp towels to my forehead and gave me cold baths while Dad had apparently taken a part-time job as a grave-digger during the plague, given that both he and mom and gotten the pox last time round, I couldn’t exactly get sicker, and Rain had somehow escaped the pestilence.

On the other hand, while I was up and running pretty much immediately after Midwife Strife cast Esuna on me, Rain was forced to sit around with _broken ribs,_ which she’d somehow acquired while I was out for the count—so who’s laughing now, sis? She spent the time when she couldn’t follow my friends and I as we rampaged around town enchanting us with all sorts of fantasy stories—and having experienced magic first hand, I, like half the town kids, was obsessed, even if I knew better than to badger Mama Strife for magic lessons.

Rain continued to embroider Lucrecia’s commission. It was already a masterpiece, some sort of impossible mix between an Impressionist painting and religious iconography, dizzyingly evocative and unbelievably detailed, as if a story, a song had been sewn onto cloth. And it was still not finished, while my sister had refused countless competing offers for it, some of them measuring _thousands of Gil_.

Year five of my second life saw tensions with Wutai rising. Newspapers and radios reported everything about the nation that they could spin negatively, accusing Wutai of being a dictatorship, nepotist, toadying, anti-science, superstitious, totalitarian, oppressive, and more. In other words, everything Shinra was and a few extra bits for flavor, which made the whole “Shinra is the light of progress, a true meritocracy!” line pretty ridiculous, especially when paired with slogans like “Join the army! Serve your country! Be a hero!”. No Silver General yet, but it was only a matter of time before those posters cropped up.

I felt pretty helpless. All I had done was befriend the main characters, but I couldn’t even start spreading anti-Shinra opinions around, because if Cloud didn’t try to join SOLDIER, there wouldn’t be anyone to stop the One-Winged Angel when he decides to kill everything, and that…would be bad. I debated going with Cloud when he tried to join SOLDIER, and maybe try to fix things from there, or maybe heading up into the Shinra Mansion to wake up Vincent, and maybe get him to help me kill Hojo and save the world or something. Either option would have to wait until I was even older though, while canon hurtled onwards like a train towards a cliff.

On the bright side, with three people doing needlework, our family was finally stably on the good side of the poverty line, so I wouldn’t be kept from Midgar by a lack of Gil. In fact, we were even well off enough that my sister could stop providing child labor and be a kid for once. She was an awesome big sister, leading me and Cloud and Tifa around on adventures, even out of the town itself, to the envy of most of our yearmates, although she did make a point of teaching us how to climb trees and stayed close enough to civilization to avoid the roaming Nibel Wolf packs that occasionally came far too near the town borders.

For all that the sentient alien plague that was the root of all evil was pretty much right above our heads, I couldn’t do anything about it, so I tried to push the looming future from my mind and focus on the present.

* * *

It was my fifth birthday party.

“Make a wish! Make a wish! Make a wish!” My friends chanted as I puffed out my cheeks to blow out the five candles on the birthday cake that was Tifa’s present to me—the frosting was thick and a bit lopsided, but you could appreciate the effort—besides, her mom had baked the actual thing, so I didn't have to worry about salt instead of sugar or something like that.

 _I wish I won_ _’t accidentally fuck anything up._ My guests greeted the extinguished candles with a cheer.

Then, my sister, bearing the Rolling Pin of Authority, proclaimed that it was time for the Cutting of the Cake.

She solemnly received the knife from her assistant, her brother in embarrassing weather-name solidarity, Cloud, and handed it to me with exaggerated gravitas. I matched her move for move, then made the first cut into the confectionery.

“The Cake is Cut!” I declared.

“The Cake is Cut!” Rain proclaimed. “Let the Birthday Boy have the first slice!”

Tifa handed her a plate, and she maneuvered a slice of chocolate cake onto it, added a fork, and exchanged it for the worryingly sharp knife in my hands.

She was alarmingly blasé about handing children dangerous objects.

My older sister divvied up the rest of the cake into identical triangles, then served the rest of our quartet, setting slices aside for our parents, who were still at work.

For a few minutes, there was no conversation as we savored Mrs. Lockhart’s baking. Then, first round of cake done, it was time for the Order of Weather Names to present me with their gifts.

Cloud gave me a Nibel Wolf stuffed toy. “My mom made it for you.” He explained, “It’s real Nibel Wolf fur too!”

It was beautiful, the fur shortened to scale and the hide butter-soft, with glass beads for eyes and an embroidered snout. The mouth opened into a pouch, perfect for hiding small trinkets.

“This is great, Cloud.” I said, stroking my new wolf, “Thank you so much! I’m going to call him Lupin.”

“Happy birthday, little brother.” My sister handed me a handwoven grass basket. Nestled inside were five, green-glowing, egg-sized marbles. Materia. _Real life, actual, honest-to-gods Materia_. I felt giddy holding the magic balls in my hands. My awesome sister smiled at my excitement, “This will be the last birthday we celebrate together for quite some time, so I thought to give you something special to remember me by.”

We didn’t have the money to buy Materia, let alone natural Materia. And that meant, “You collected these yourself, sis?!?!”

The Mako springs in the mountains contained Materia, but no one actually dared to risk poisoning to collect those things, not to mention all the monsters and other dangers that lurked outside the borders of the town. My sister never got the memo, apparently.

Rain smiled cheerfully, “I have improved greatly at identifying Materia—these are the four elements and a Cure, although you’ll have to wait until next year for a bracer—I’ll send you the money for it so that you can pick it one yourself.”

“Wait—send—last birthday?” I squawked, “You’re going away?”

“My scholarship request went through yesterday.” Rain looked down at her hands, “I didn’t want to distract from your birthday, but Shinra has chosen to sponsor me all the way through university.”

“What?!” What the hell? I knew that Rain was a prodigy—Miss Pflaumen had waxed poetic about my sister every time the subject came up, between bemoaning how the student had surpassed the teacher and how she didn’t understand what Rain was doing with her mail-order education packages any longer, but Shinra getting its dirty claws into my gentle, soft-spoken big-slash-technically-little sister? That was new and infuriating and made me want to throw whoever thought of that into a Mako reactor!

However, I’d probably get killed before I got close, so I got my emotions under control and asked, “What are you studying?”

“Molecular biology and Mako physics.” Rain answered, “To seek to uncover the underpinnings of this world. But enough about me, little brother. Today is your special day. Did you like my present?”

“You’re kidding me! These are awesome! Cloud, Tifa, we’ll have to keep this secret unless we want everyone in Nibelheim jealous about us, even if we can only use these as nightlights for now!”

I poked at the _real life shinies_ , trying to see if outside interference would disturb the swirling in their depths.

Fire sparked. Cloud’s fluffy hair was the victim of a few stray sparks while Rain dodged the majority of the attack. Then, we four kids stared at the new scorch marks on my bedroom wall. Well, we three stared, Rain looked at me with an unreadable expression on her face. It was almost like _longing_. But that made no sense.

Tifa poked the fire Materia cautiously. Nothing happened, “It’s not the Materia’s problem, Verde, so I think you might not need a bracelet to cast. Probably need training though.”

“We’ll help you figure it out!” Cloud promised, bouncing back from the shock to be even more excited than I was at the prospect of messing about with forces beyond our comprehension.

“And I as well, little brother, for as long as I can.”

I smacked Rain’s arm, “Don’t be so ominous, sis! We’ll keep you in the loop even after you go off to Midgar, and besides, it’s my birthday, so let’s have fun!”

We did. Tifa got me varying the strength of my spells, while Cloud suggested trying to cast to spells at once. Then my sister stopped us all to refuel, and we played one of her suspicious games that she had invented in the absence of playstations or whatever to keep us entertained. This one was called “don’t talk about the pink chocobo”. The rules were simple, one person tried to get the other person to talk about the “pink chocobo”, which could be anything agreed upon beforehand, and the other person deflected. Points were awarded based on subtlety, relevancy of the acquired answers to the “pink chocobo”, and the smoothness of the deflections. So far, Tifa was in the lead as an interrogator, while Cloud had proven to be the worst at subtlety. I was decent enough at recognizing changes in subject, but a whole lot less good at steering the conversation in any direction.

The “pink chocobo” this time was my Materia abilities, and in time, I would be kicking myself for not recognizing that sign for it was.

By some arcane feat of schedule sorcery, my sister managed to make an extra hour of time every day she had left for our experiments with my abilities. Cloud contributed unorthodox avenues of investigation while Tifa used martial arts theory to help me manage my power. Then Rain put forth the suggestion that changed everything: Did I need to be touching the Materia to use it?

* * *

The night before my sister left for Midgar, we stayed up long after Tifa and Cloud had gone home from the goodbye party and our parents had gone to bed. Her never-ending tapestry that was now worth at least ten thousand Gil had been folded up in its oilcloth and packed away for the journey, nestled safely between the comb dad had bought her, her embroidery supplies, a small pouch of Gil, and her few sets of clothes.

Breath in. Breath out.

I reached out with my mind and mana once more, straining for the faint awareness of the Materia in my sister’s lap.

Something fell into place.

I felt a swooping sensation in my gut and then a wave of euphoria. A whoosh of wind, too gentle to be a genuine Aero, rustled my sister’s long hair.

Long, silver, inhumanly perfect hair, identical to Sephiroth’s, on the barely teenage head of my sister, who was going to _Midgar_. The realization sent a jolt of shock through me. Nibelheim was super out of the way, so we could probably avoid the action so long as we stayed here; we could grow up and grow stronger, then go to the abandoned mansion and wake Vincent up before getting him to help us—but Rain was going to Midgar to study biochemistry and molecular biology and Mako, which sounded like Hojo’s field of work, and that plus the Nibelheim plus the silver hair plus the whole prodigy thing just sounded like the sort of the thing that would get his interest—not a good thing. And even if Hojo ignored her, the Wutai war was going to start, at which point Sephiroth would become famous and someone would notice the resemblance, which would get Rain in trouble anyway.

I took a deep breath, “Sis, do you trust me?”

“Of course, little brother.”

“You should cut your hair, or dye it.”

The glint of a knife in the faint moonlight; a silver waterfall, pooling on the floor at her side before I could react. My sister shook out her new bob, then turned her gaze on me.

“What!?” I whisper-shouted, “I—you just—”

“As I said, silly otouto.” Rain patted my head, “I trust you. Now, tell me, what is the cause of your constant worry?”

Maybe it was the magic high. Maybe it was the timing. Maybe it was the haircut that tipped the scales. I told her bits and pieces of the secret that had been eating away in me since I realized that this town was called Nibelheim.

“Don’t ask me how, but I know things.” I confided, “There’s going to be a war next year—Shinra’s going to declare war on Wutai to put a Mako Reactor there. Mako’s liquified Lifestream, the reactors are draining life from the planet. Also, SOLDIERS are made by combining Mako injections with dead Jenova cells—Jenova’s an alien calamity from the stars who wants to destroy everything, her body is in Shinra and she’s still alive. And omnicidal. There’re also three special SOLDIERS who were made with live cells: Sephiroth, Genesis, and Angeal. Watch out for them, they might be good now but they’ll turn dangerous later. Also, the Shinra Science Department is dangerous, in the mad science way. Beware of Hojo. You’re a prodigy in his field, they might want to recruit you. I wanted you to cut your hair because it’s identical to Sephiroth’s and I don’t think you want that attention.”

“Understood.” Rain nodded, “Would the name _Vincent Valentine_ mean anything to you?”

I spluttered, “What?”

She shifted, playing with the Materia, “When I was three—almost four—I wandered away from our parents at the market. A man in a black suit chased me—he had mistaken me for 'Sephiroth', or so he said, and when he caught up with me and saw my eyes, he apologized and introduced himself as Vincent Valentine, before taking me back home. He seemed…quite stressed, but hiding it well.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I muttered, because thinking that your sister looks like Sephiroth was one thing, but knowing that she actually got mistaken for him by Vincent fucking Valentine the fucking Turk was very much another. “Okay, Vincent was a Turk, that means Shinra wetworks agent, or something like that. He was apparently a legend, and was guarding the scientists of the JENOVA project while they were working here eleven years ago. The woman you’re embroidering that giant thing for, Lucrecia Crescent, she had worked with his father on the Chaos research, which was about dark mako and WEAPONS of the planet and stuff like that, and he had died to save her, and she felt guilty about that. Lucrecia was working with Hojo on trying to recreate an Ancient using Jenova cells which they thought were Ancient cells, and they experimented on their baby. Vincent was in love with Lucrecia, and after Hojo took the baby away and didn’t let Lucrecia see her and their experiments made her sick, Vincent confronted Hojo and Hojo shot him. Lucrecia sealed Chaos into Vincent to save his life, but it kept taking control so she also put the Protomateria into him to try to give him control, and Hojo also experimented on the guy and stuff before that, and shoved him in a coffin in the Shinra Mansion’s basement afterwards, where he’s staying in an attempt to atone for his crimes or something. He’ll get pulled out by Cloud and help him save the world from Sephiroth in the future, but he’s still hibernating right now. Lucrecia’s also supposed to be unable to die and has sealed herself in a crystal cave somewhere in the mountains.”

It was like the floodgates had opened, my panic now driving me to pour everything out instead of keeping everything in. Rain didn’t look at all lost after my long rambling explanation. “I see.” She said, “Would I be correct in assuming that you know yet more?”

I nodded guiltily, “Yes.”

She thought that fact over, “I will not ask you how you came by this information, but as your sister, I ask you to tell me everything you can.”

I took a deep breath. “Okay.”

And I told my sister about Zack, about Tifa, about Cloud, about AVALANCHE the second and first and about the Legendary Trio who all became monsters in their own ways.

Sunlight spilled into the bedroom by the time we were done. Rain stowed the Wind Materia into Lupin’s stomach, ran a hand through her shortened hair, and pressed a kiss to my brow as she rose “Forewarned by you, I now depart. Write often, and practice with your Materia. We will plan more when I come home. Until then, otouto.”

Little did I know, but Rain Storm would never return to Nibelheim.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

This story has two viewpoints: Verde and his sister, with Verde's pov taking us through the time from his birth until the pre-Nibelheim scene in the summary, his sister will be coming back on stage soon, although we won't be seeing her side of the story until we reach the much anticipated scene of Hojo's death.

Verde's name means green, for a certain reason, while Rain's name comes from a convoluted reference to the line "And water'd Heaven with their tears"--Heaven's tears. He's very much an unreliable narrator, but I think I've dropped enough hints to suggest just what he isn't noticing.

Tip: What's Mister Storm's profession? And doesn't that sound familiar?

And spoilers, for those who might have found this through my profile:

.lisaB AKA ,arasiriK si niaR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In East Asian Cultures, the moon is a symbol of longing, and of reunion, tying together kith and kin scattered to the four corners of the earth, for when they look up at night, they gaze upon the same silver sphere. Today is the fifteenth day of the eighth lunar month, the Mid-Autumn Festival called Zhongqiu by the Chinese and Tsukimi by the Japanese, and for a tale tied together by this celestial body, it is only fitting that it enters the world on the night of its celebration.
> 
> Fun thing about Rain: Verde reads her hair as Sephiroth-associated, but given the fact that she’s studying biology and (Planet-)magic, plus the fact that this is a crossover, and the hint in the summary about her position under Hojo (a black-haired amoral scientist with certain transhumanist tendencies and a heaping helping of sadism), and you get a very different result. Namely, Yakushi Kabuto with a touch of Kaguya.


	2. Chapter 2

We kept up correspondence despite the postal service running once a month when it _wasn_ _’t_ delayed for three years, as my abilities developed and Cloud and Tifa grew up, while far off in Midgar, my sister investigated the mysteries of existence.

Sis had also arranged treasure hunts for Cloud’s and Tifa’s next birthdays with their parents, so that they each got their own Materia mixes. The war in Wutai dragged on, and recruiting posters popped up everywhere, even in our town. I was struck by how young the Tragic Trio were—the same age as my older little sister, the age when they should be worrying about small things like due dates for schoolwork, not _war_. But Shinra had taken that from them and sent them to kill—just like so many young men it had tricked. Confronted with that fact, I was reconsidering letting Cloud go join Shinra.

* * *

For all the news that trickled into our village, we lived three steady and uneventful years. Rain sent regular packages of gifts and money, Gil from her embroidery business and bolts of fabric for new clothes; sturdy knives and exotic spices. Mom and Dad sold their needlework, although the absence of Rain’s pieces disappointed the merchants who came to buy a little. Cloud and Tifa and I explored my powers while Cloud also borrowed my Materia to practice with under his mother’s guidance and Tifa learnt martial arts under Master Zangan. Then Tifa’s mother sickened, and even with my fully mastered Cure and the Strifes’ Cleanse, all I could do was delay the inevitable.

That was when the suits came.

I walked in the front door to see a woman and a man sitting across from my parents at the dinner table. “—scholarship, all expenses paid, of course, and a monthly stipend in compensation for depriving you of your son’s presence.”

I tried to edge outside, but the woman turned to me and smiled, “Hello, Verde! We were just discussing offering you a full scholarship in Shinra’s new uplift program!”

“Really…” I was pretty skeptical, “Are you sure you got the right house? I mean, my marks aren’t bad but they’re nothing to look at either. No offense, Ms.…”

“Cassandra.” She offered a hand for me to shake, “And this is my colleague, mister Virgil.”

“Your sister’s extraordinary progress has left us curious about whether there are any more diamonds in the rough in your family.” Virgil said, “And so, Shinra would like to give you a place in our state-of-the-art facilities, so as to cultivate your potential to its fullest.”

Bullshit. They definitely weren’t here for my academic potential. I suddenly felt a sense of creeping dread. My ability with Materia—that was what they were here for. Fuck, why had I written about them in my letters? I didn’t think anyone would be checking our mail, but I had clearly underestimated Shinra’s interest in the people they patronized. And if what I knew about Shinra was correct, they wouldn’t stop until they got what they came for.

I looked at the suits in a new light. Black and white, minimalist and practical. Rain’s games directed my attention to the fact that their wearers had callouses on their index fingers—trigger fingers.

“That sounds cool.” I lied, fidgeting nervously, “But mom and dad can’t come, right?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Virgil answered, “Our new program is strictly regimented, and you will be roomed in a dormitory with your fellow students. And once the program starts, your days will be so full that you wouldn’t have much time for them anyway. Think about it, Verde, would you want your parents to uproot their lives for you, and not even be able to keep them company?”

“No.” I looked down at my feet, the man’s tone somehow making me feel ashamed, “I wouldn’t.”

“I know that the concept of moving to Midgar alone sounds terrifying, Verde.” Cassandra said, “It’s loud and impersonal, with people rushing about at all hours and new things every day. However, it’s also an opportunity, an excellent one at that—your sister took her chance, and is now one of the best and brightest of Midgar University’s students, and will graduate summa cum laude with the perfect job waiting for her—your chance is now, and not only does it promise the best education for you, it also comes with a benefits package for your parents. A stipend that’s,” she chuckled, “Higher than my salary, even, and Shinra’s premium insurance package. None of your family will want for anything if you join the program.”

“But my friends—” I was struck by inspiration, “Tifa’s mom is sick—if I leave, she’ll die!”

Cassandra frowned sympathetically, “Tell me about her, Verde.”

I gave a short explanation of Mrs. Lockhart’s cancer.

Cassandra nodded, “If that is your greatest concern, Verde, I believe that we can come to an agreement. If we bend the rules a little, I’m sure that Shinra will be able to treat Mrs. Lockhart’s disease as part of the benefits package. We can stay until she’s well again, then you can come with us to Midgar.”

“Really?” I looked at her with wide eyes.

“Doable.” Virgil grunted, “It’ll be your problem to manage though, Cassandra.”

“Then we are agreed?” Cassandra confirmed.

Did I have any choice? “Yes.”

* * *

True to her word, Cassandra had a team of doctors come to treat Mrs. Lockhart’s cancer, and a month later, Tifa came to our home with her mother in tow, bearing a giant chocolate cake.

She hugged me, “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

It was a goodbye party. Cloud gave me a pendant that he had carved himself. Tifa gave me a pair of fingerless gloves, _for bullies_ , she explained.

We set up the grill outside, and ate sausages and steak and roast potatoes, then had cake. Then, as the most exciting event of the night, our parents poured us thimblefuls of Ms. Strife’s hard apple cider, and we had a toast. The stars were out in full force by the time the party wound down, and sleeping bags came out for a last sleepover before our parting.

The next day, Cassandra, Virgil, and I boarded the helicopter that would take us to Midgar. I waved furiously at my friends until they disappeared from sight, all too aware that whatever awaited me, it wouldn’t be good.

But the flight was long, and soon enough, I fell asleep.

I jerked awake as the helicopter lurched in the air. Cassandra’s eyes were narrowed and she was holding a gun. Virgil, piloting the ‘copter, shouted, “Hang on tight, we’re under attack!”

What? What the hell was happening? I hunkered down in my seat and clung to the edges for dear life as we dove and spun, leaving my stomach a couple meters behind us.

“Crash landing!” Virgil announced, “Brace!”

The impact rattled my teeth, but we were still alive, so I guess it could have been worse.

“Hide behind the crates, Verde!” Cassandra ordered, unbuckling herself from her flight harness and drawing her gun.

Both probably-Turks were armed now, Virgil sporting a rifle, and they were crouched behind the cockpit, Cassandra covering the windows and Virgil covering the door. I obeyed Cassandra’s orders, crouching behind cover and peering out cautiously.

Slash. The tip of a sword appeared in the door, carving a giant gash before I could blink. Cassandra turned her gun towards the side as the sword continued to cut its way through metal like butter. The two opened fire just as the sword completed its last cut, the force of the bullets knocking the square outwards, revealing two oddly familiar helmeted and cloaked figures. The figures deflected the bullets, their swords silver blurs in the bright afternoon light. There were two bangs, and then everything was silent while blood sprayed from my protectors’ bodies.

There was wailing. My sight was blurry. A slap to my face, the force of the blow knocking me backwards. Oh, I was crying in terror. One of the two jerked me up roughly and ordered me to be quiet. I tried, but it just made the sobs come harder, which got me another slap. Probably giving up, they manhandled me somewhere, throwing me onto the floor and shutting the door behind me.

* * *

I managed to collect myself in the darkness as we moved. The ones who took me also wore Shinra’s logo, plus one that looked like the SOLDIER sign. Being kidnapped from the Turks sounded weird, but I was probably still in Shinra custody. They were also a whole lot faster than normal humans and felt different, far more solid to my Materia-sense, so, they were probably enhanced.

Enhanced. SOLDIER. Shinra. Kidnapping. Faceless helmets. I knew this.

Come on, think! You know this, me! I wracked my brain for the answer, while, far off in the distance, something started glowing in the darkness behind my eyelids.

In Nibelheim, I could sense Materia around me in a twenty-meter radius, although reaching for one that far strained me enough to give me a nosebleed and a blackout. Materia was crystallized Lifestream, crystallized Mako, and if I could sense it in its solid form, I could sense it in its liquid form too. The reactor up in the mountains had always been the moon to the stars of Materia in my mind, glowing, brilliant power, visible to my senses even when it was far out of Materia-sensing range.

There was a sun in the distance, brilliant, incandescent, and as I was brought nearer, it differentiated itself into eight—no, nine! —moons. Midgar—but it was divided into eight sectors, not nine. Eight reactors, one through eight. One through eight and—Reactor Zero. That was where I saw the uniforms. The two dark SOLDIERS were Restrictors, members of the Lost Force, tasked with bringing “recruits” into Deepground, the underground city where a brainwashed, superpowered secret army lived, implanted with biochips that kept them from rebelling against their overseers, who only answered to President Shinra.

Fuck. Fuck. I didn’t want to become a brainwashed killer dancing to a psychopath’s tune. I needed to escape, except no one escaped Deepground. Not until Shelke… When was Shelke? She was nine in 0000, right? Which meant I was earlier than her by five years. And then she got stuck in Deepground for ten years, before being recognized and rescued by her sister and Vincent in _Dirge of Cerberus_. That was probably the best I could hope for if I didn’t escape.

The Restrictors had taken my sister’s birthday gift with me, a cure Materia and four elemental ones, getting close to mastered from how much I’d used them. I needed to wait until we entered Midgar proper before acting, so that I could get lost in the crowd. Maybe I could hide in the Slums. Or go find my sister. Somehow, some part of me believed that my brilliant sister could make anything alright, even being kidnapped by evil supersoldiers who wanted to make me one of them.

The nine moons grew bigger, farther apart until I could make out the circle they formed and Reactor Zero below the center.

We approached one of the eight. I reached out to sense the Materia, mana at the ready, just waiting to be channeled into the Materia behind the partition.

Now! I cast a Wind and a Fira mixed together to make a superheated blowtorch to melt through the side of the transport, the white-hot glow searing itself into my retinas, and couldn’t help but grin, because I was basically pulling off the lightsaber door-opening move. I kicked the circle of metal out, and heard it clatter satisfyingly against the ground, letting in the wind as we sped along the highway.

Oh, we were moving, that was a problem. I didn’t know how to jump out of a moving car, especially not without getting hurt. The alternative was worse though. I tried to psych myself up, standing by the hole, looking out at asphalt rolling past in the night.

The car screeched to a halt, sending me to the floor. No time. I threw myself out of the car and ran as fast as my legs could take me in the direction of the city, readying a Thunder as pounding footsteps neared. I threw the spell at the Restrictor, not stopping to see if it hit.

But there were two. I felt a blow on the back of my head. I blacked out.

* * *

I woke up strapped to a table, bright operating lights swimming in my hazy vision.

“Testing biochip.” Droned a voice, “Vitals steady. Initiating disciplinary function.”

Pain lanced through me, and I _screamed_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, I went there. We're tackling the Does Not Exist, Terrible Sequel, because I am a terrible person with terrible judgement.  
> Feel free to throw a rotten tomato in the comments.


	3. Chapter 3

They didn’t use the chips once they took the samples and let me scream myself hoarse as the serum they used burned through my veins. Instead, once I had been hosed down and assigned uniform, bunk, and cohort, they used good old-fashioned pain and peer pressure for boot camp-slash-obedience training.

"‘39-29’ defied a Restrictor. As additional punishment, Squad 19D is assigned ten consecutive hours of additional basic drills.”

"‘39-29’ disobeyed a Restrictor. As additional punishment, Squad 19D is to receive extra rounds of resistance training.”

Disassemble a rifle in one minute. Two seconds overtime. Twenty pushups.

Run ten kilometers. Fall behind? Too bad. An extra five kilos.

Punch. Block. See stars. Get up before you get beaten. Keep fighting.

Sword drills. My arms felt like limp noodles, but the moment I slipped up, I got hit with the instructor’s baton. Twenty-six repetitions. Twenty-four more to go.

Combat simulations. The Mako in my veins sharpened my senses and enhanced my reflexes and doubled my strength and speed, but I just didn’t have the skill to use them. More hours in the sims while my dormmates rested.

Meals were bars of compressed stuff that looked and tasted like shit and stuck to the back of the throat, and we only had ten minutes to force the rations down before training began again.

The only thing I was absolutely and unquestionably good at was Materia usage. Using a bracer was weird, but they held my Materia far more securely than a pocket. Whatever had been done to me had made it a lot easier to cast, my mana reserves now big enough that I could probably fire off Firagas for hours.

* * *

After I got the basics down to the point that when they said “jump”, I’d be into the air already before I thought to ask _how high_ , training stepped up. I was moved to a smaller class, with older students, and the fighting became more brutal.

The knowledge that there was something I had to do had been all that had kept me going through the endless grind of torture. Mom, dad, Rain, Cloud, Tifa, they were all people that I had to save. Hojo had to be stopped, and wasn’t that funny, that I had spent nine years terrified of Sephiroth only for his dad to fuck me over?

I broke bones and was made to keep fighting, snarling through reflexive tears. Once I went to Science and Medical (S&M, woohoo), they put a Cure Materia a couple of rooms over and made me reach out to Cure myself. I knew better than to protest. I strained and reached and managed to produce a weak green glow before my vision went black.

Water was poured on my face. Dribbled pink down my chin. “Continue.”

I strained again, a sharp pain behind my eyes and a dull pounding in my skull. I could feel the swelling around my broken bones go down a bit.

“Interesting. Repeated casting utilizing removed Materia results in a cumulative effect. Mana usage corresponds to the strength of the spell, is not observably altered by the distance. Exhibiting symptoms of psychic strain, but only superficial physical damage has resulted. Again.”

I gritted my teeth and reached out, feeling as if someone was trying to dig out of my head with an icepick. Once more.

“Subject’s symptoms are notably more severe. Spell was cast with greater effect for shorter duration. Again.”

My vision got cloudy and my head felt like it was going to explode off my shoulders. I _reached_.

I swayed as the scientist shined a penlight into my eyes, jerking away on instinct before holding myself still at a snapped order.

“Subconjunctival hemorrhage observed in subject’s left eye. Pupil dilation normal. Subject remains conscious and responsive. Psychic strain symptoms increased as expected. Physical strain has been exacerbated. Spell’s efficacy approaching standard Cure, duration reduced to .9 seconds. Again.”

Right, that did it. He was now the first on my To Kill list. I reached out again. The monitors connected to the sensors on my chest started beeping frantically.

The scientist leaned over me with a syringe of _something_ , still recording, “Subject exhibits severe psychic strain, vitals have deviated from healthy levels, mana expenditure absent, spell remained uncast. Halting distance testing. Injection of VE-12-3 commencing.”

The injection burned, but it was the not bad kind of burn that only left you screaming for a minute while it settled your veins. I breathed a bit easier now, lying on the cool tile floor.

“Vitals stabilizing.” The scientist droned, “—”

I succumbed to the gentle pull of unconsciousness.

They splinted the injury but made me continue the “exercise” the next day. To my despair, I had improved, which, as far as the scientists were concerned, meant that their methods were working and that they could continue using them. It took five more sessions with the Cure Materia to get my arm back in working order, not helped by the fact that I got more injuries in the meantime from sparring and that the scientists sometimes inflicted “test cuts”, so by the time my arm healed, I had been forced to grow used to a constant headache.

Which was basically a typical occurrence in Deepground.

* * *

Two big cycles had passed with waves of new recruits, with smatterings of individuals conscripts in between. I grew up a bit, endured more mad science and not so mad science, and lost a lot of my old roommates as they were "transferred". Given that I didn't see them ever again, I supposed that "transfer" meant something nefarious. But I couldn't help them and I didn't have the energy to start looking. So they were gone.

I escaped that, presumably because I had been picked for my special powers, so go me. But on the other hand, guess what the Restrictors want from kids who aren’t so common?

Command.

I was a captain. A _captain_. How the hell was I a captain? Did the Restrictors get so mako-addled that they wrote 204912 instead of 20495 or something? Who in their right minds would give a kid responsibility over more kids’ lives and stuff? This wasn’t _Ender_ _’s Game_ , for Goddess’s sakes!

The Deepground promotion criteria were stupid. Absolutely and irrevocably stupid. Pitting teams against each other to test our tactical ability was stupid—alright, not normally, but I just used my magic to—not thinking about that—why was I being made a captain when I wasn’t even close to first place in class? I had only just been disciplined for _insubordination_! My only advantage was my magic making me a better—not thinking about that NOT THINKING ABOUT THAT—which, on second thought, seemed to be what they were looking for, chasing strength and power and all that yada yada. Alright, I now had to integrate the poor, shocked (literally) remnants of my enemy into my squad, and also take care of our wounded.

The Restrictor of the West had kept the fight going until casualties were more than one in two, with most of them being on the other side, courtesy of my lightning—pink chocobos, greens, Materia theory, anything but that—probably so that everyone still salvageable could be mixed into a single group under my command.

“26-14.” I said, “Get our guys into good order, I’ll see about the other side.”

“Got it, sir.” He acknowledged, “I’ll send the mages who aren’t out yet after you.”

Sir. I glared at him, “Seriously?”

He raised an eyebrow, “Regulations.”

I followed his gaze to the Restrictor in the corner.

Yeah, got it.

I crossed over the field of carnage, then addressed 52B, “Who’s in charge?”

A dark-skinned girl forced herself up and saluted, “Me, sir. Current number 23-28.”

She had a bleeding cut across her torso, plus the usual array of scrapes and scratches, and was probably keeping herself on her feet through sheer willpower.

“Okay,” I muttered under my breath, I was a sir now, fuck my life, “My current number is 26-37, and as you probably know, I’m your new captain.”

“Yes sir.” She agreed warily.

Oh fuck, we’d just slaughtered each other, how was this supposed to work?

First things first, I wasn’t sending anyone to S&M if I could help it. I checked my reserves, still a quarter full. “23-28, I will heal you now.” I informed her, not bothering to ask permission, given the Restrictor presence and the fact that nobody really remembered the point in Deepground anyway. You either could do it and did it, or you couldn’t stop it and endured it.

She braced herself as I cast a Cure.

Oh, 23-28 was still standing at attention. “At ease. Triage 52B’s wounded, I’ll heal the critical ones. I’m going to choose a second in command from you, any recommendations?”

She bit her lip, “What are you looking for, sir?”

Someone who I can act as a puppet for, please. But I couldn’t say that. “Skill in strategy and tactics, plus logistics if possible, and also a priority on people who can manage the rest.”

“I’m third in the class rankings, if that’s what you’re looking for, sir. 23-12 is dead while 23-34 is disqualified from command—”

“Excellent. You’re promoted.” I decided hurriedly, because I wasn’t a good judge of talent anyways—well, unless one of the canon characters popped up.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's more than one SI. That's a problem.

There was a new girl in our dorm, from Aboveground, like me. She was stubborn in a way none of us were, any more. Even more strangely? I could sense a Summon in her.

“My name is Felicia.” She had introduced herself _by name_ , _name_ and not number, and if not having had that beaten out of her in boot camp was suspicious, then the name in question sounded even more so, “What are yours?”

“We don’t have names.” 15-2 warned her (all of our numbers had gotten changed once more with the new dorms, and as befitting her status, my godsend of a second in command got bed number 2, the bunk above mine, which just said something about where the power really lay or something), “We aren’t allowed. You’re just 15-40—don’t let the Trainers hear anything different.”

“Who gives them the right?” Felicia asked, “They’re Shinra—they still have to comply to its code of conduct. No one can take my name away from me! You can keep yours secret if you’re too afraid, but I’m not going to let anyone scare me—not when papa is the scariest person in Shinra!”

Oh, fuck. I knew where this was probably going, and I didn’t like it one bit. Also, did they actually do anything with her in Boot or did they just throw up their hands and go _she_ _’s your problem now_? If so, then wow, props to her, she managed to break them. Even I didn’t manage that.

“Shut up!” 15-24 hissed, “They’ll hear you!”

“Then let them!” Felicia snarled, “I’m not going to be afraid—they’re bad people and they’ll get punished soon!”

“I’m Verde.” I offered hesitantly, “Verde Storm.”

“ _15-1!_ ” 15-18 whisper-shouted, “What’re you doing?”

Felicia smiled, the brightest thing I had seen in Deepground, “Nice to meet you, Verde!”

I learned that yes, she was the daughter of Veld, that she was from Kalm, which had been bombed, but that she was sure her papa was okay because papa could survive anything and come back to her and mama, we only needed to wait before her papa came to catch the criminals and save us all.

She didn’t believe me when I said that this was under the direction of the president himself, “And even if it is, papa will fight for us. Papa isn’t scared of anything.”

I couldn’t help but match her bright smile, even if I knew that her confidence would amount to nothing in the end.

Of course, I panicked. Felicia was supposed to be Elfé, not in Deepground, unless she somehow found her way from Deepground to AVALANCHE during the years between the bombing and BC—could that be it? She didn’t have amnesia yet, so maybe she got it during her escape!

* * *

Felicia dashed my expectations on a giant, Odin-shaped boulder in training the next cycle.

“Collective punishment is inhumane and illegal!” She snarled at the Trainer when he assigned us extra drills.

“Insubordination.” The Trainer stated, “The punishment is ten strikes.”

But when he advanced on Felicia with his crackling electro-rod, Felicia firmed her stance, clenched her fists, and _changed_. Armor manifested out of golden light, and a spear blocked the first blow.

No, it wasn’t just the horns, Felicia was taller. She leapt back, then used the distance to bring the spear down, knocking the nightstick out of the Trainer’s hands. He tried to close the distance, made to grapple and subdue her, but the armor made that difficult and Felicia spun around, hitting him again with the shaft of her weapon before shifting her grip to stab the Trainer in the stomach. Blood spurted out, all over her black and gold armor, and she stumbled back, collapsing, face pale with shock while hard plate dissolved into golden motes of light, taking the bloodstains with it.

Concern overrode my fear of consequences, “Felicia!” I ran over to where she was curled on her side, “Are you alright?”

“Ye—no.” She leaned on me, “I’m—the doctor said that this is called Magic Exhaustion—it’s the Summon in me—” Suddenly, she caught my hand in a bone-crushing grip, “Promise me, you won’t get in its way if it takes control— _promise_.”

“Promise.” I swore, but was interrupted by the sound of footsteps.

The Restrictor of the East, biggest bad here in hell, literal, physical, evil, stopped in front of us, “Insubordination.” He stated, looking down at us through his expressionless mask, “Unauthorized killing. Lack of discipline. Inappropriate conduct. It appears that 15-1 requires remedial training, and 15-40 is still lacking in discipline—perhaps reflective of 15-1’s failings as a commander.”

I couldn’t help my trembling, and the Restrictor seemed to relish in our terror, deliberately taking a step so that I was no longer between him and Felicia, “Punishment… report to Science and Medical experimentation room H423 at 2200 hours.”

“Acknowledged.” I answered obediently, hoping that Felicia would hold her tongue for once. She tensed, as if she was going to argue with the Restrictor, gold sparks swirling about her like she was going to transform again, the Summon active to my senses and strangely resistant to my attempts to cut it off, but she let my white-knuckled grip on her shoulders keep her down.

“And as a taste of what awaits you…” The Restrictor said with dark amusement—I braced, breath coming fast—my world dissolved into white fire.

* * *

Thankfully, Science and Medical didn’t separate us, and even though their cross-ability testing was horrible for both of us—turned out that Implanted Summons were different from standard summons, as far as my power was concerned, and while I could, technically, shut one down, it’d take me out of the running due to psychic strain while Felicia would recover almost immediately afterward, a whole lot more pissed off than before. As a result, the Researchers were infuriated by their inability to find anything to subdue Felicia’s Odin Form, which was immune to everything from tranquilizers to oxygen deprivation to Mako overdose. In fact, the only way to subdue it was to wear it down with damage or get Felicia to dismiss it on her own. Everyone knew that already.

That made them seriously mad, and it wasn’t helped by the fact that like with me, they couldn’t actually add J-, S-, or G-Cells to her systems, but, like me, she had some sort of alternate mechanism to make use of Mako. Their best guess, sorry, hypothesis, was that it had to do with Odin, or rather, Project Shardstrength, but given that I caught words like “incomprehensible” being thrown about, they were probably just as in the dark as the rest of us.

On the other hand, it was discovered that I could help Felicia with her stamina problem because while I couldn’t shut down her Materia’s energy intake, I could supplement it, so that she wasn’t limited to her own magical reserves and could use mine as well.

Which. You’d think that if keeping us within my range would make us stronger, then they’d do their best to keep us on the opposite ends of the facility, but no, the Restrictor of the East was an arrogant dick, and instead said, “The increase in power their proximity brings outweighs the risk of rebellion that would be addressed by the chips. 15-40 will remain in 15A.”

Drained, dazed, and sporting half-healed injuries from Felicia’s Odin rampage as I leaned against the walls of the testing chamber, it was all I could do to force out an acknowledgement.

Felicia gritted her teeth and glared.

I could detect something almost like amusement coming off the Restrictor, “However, discipline must be maintained. Commander 15A, I presume you remember the standard punishment for a cadet who fails to respect my authority.”

I flinched, the memories of the beatings raising their heads in my mind, “Twenty lashes for a minor offense, sir.”

Despite the fact that Restrictor didn’t show much emotion when he talked, there was definitely an undercurrent of sadism in his voice, “I see that you still remember your own experiences well. And who administers the sentence?”

I gritted my teeth.

“The answer, Commander?”

“The commanding officer.” I bit out. Fuck him with his own gun-blades.

“Then I believe your next actions are clear.”

Thirty-four Materia in range, ten equipped, twenty-four loose; of the equipped, three support, four magic, three command; of the loose— “Yes, sir.”

The Restrictor drew out the baton from his cloak and offered it, handle-first, to me. “Then begin.”

Felicia shot me a tight-lipped glance, then resumed glaring at the Restrictor. She drew back her shoulders, and held her chin high, with her fists clenched in her lap. The message was clear. She knew who the real enemy was.

I swallowed a useless apology.

Thud.

One.

* * *

I cast Curaga over Felicia’s bloody back. The skin knit together easily while she let out a hiss of pain.

“Sorry.” I mumbled.

“Don’t be.” She countered in a clipped voice, “I made a misjudgment. They’re willing to use us against each other, so, unless we’re willing to refuse to negotiate no matter what comes, we will have to bow and bide our time.”

“Hang on.” I stopped for a moment, “There was never anything about a ‘we’, was there? Where did you get that idea from?”

The girl twisted around to face me, not caring about the fact that I could see the red Materia buried in her chest, “You kept your name.” She said matter-of-factly, “You recognized that everything is upside-down and decided to resist, so while you may have been beaten down, Verde, you haven’t stopped fighting.”

She gestured to her back, “We’re surrounded by evil, and the only thing to do when confronted by evil is to stand against it. I believe in you Verde, I believe that you will never join the evil around us, and papa always said that you should have a partner at your back if you’re entering enemy territory, so, instead of waiting to be rescued, let’s fight evil _together_.”

There was only one thing to say to a pretty girl asking me for a long-term relationship, “I guess that you can’t say that this isn’t a target-rich environment.”

Felicia spluttered out a surprised laugh.


	5. Chapter 5

Once we were willing to kill like good little soldiers, our respective powers made us too valuable to waste on such a minor position. Felicia took to commanding troops like a fish to water, so we got promoted away from my squad pretty soon after she got her share of experience, leaving everything in the capable hands of my SIC, who was even nice enough to wish me luck despite all the suffering, metaphorical and literal, that I’d caused her since that war game with 52B.

After that, we received higher level tactics, combat, and even a bit of strategy training, mostly with dick-measuring assholes and murder-crazy ones, getting shuffled around to familiarize ourselves with all the potential units we’d have to work with or command, and by some small mercy, we were kept together.

Felicia however, was not quite as positive, “They’re keeping us together because they know that they can use you against me.”

“That’s…true. Bad but true.” Okay, so she was the kid of the head of the secret police, maybe some things just slipped through.

“It could be worse.” She added grimly, “They could have realized that all of their victims could be used against me.”

“And I’m the better hostage?” I complained.

She shook her head, “No, you’re valuable as more than a hostage, so they will be slightly more hesitant about hurting you. Now, come at me again.”

I hefted the stupid chunk of metal called a sword, “Okay.”

My partner _tripped_ me. “Footwork.” She sang.

* * *

Little by little, we figured out how just where we could push our boundaries.

“Oh look.” Felicia drawled as a body hit the ground, “What a pity. If he had actually wanted to live, he would have found a way to survive, alas, he was weak, and so he died.”

If you’re wondering about her radical change in personality, don’t worry, it’s fake. Flashback two cycles. My terrifying former lieutenant and current successor, now bumped up to 15-1, caught me during downtime.

“Sir.”

I winced, “No need to call me sir, 15-1, I’m not your commander now.”

She looked at me like I was an idiot for a second, “You outrank me even more now. Sir.”

“Don’t remind me.” I muttered. “How’ve you been?”

Yeah, we were all socially illiterate at this point. Fucking Deepground.

“Functional.” 15-1 answered flatly, “I need to ask you a question, sir, as a mage.”

“Shoot.”

Luckily, 15-1 was used enough to my weird topside expressions to not pull out a gun, settling for a disapproving glare. “Does Sleepel induce dreamless sleep?”

“Hang on.” I cast out my senses, finding a Seal Materia in…Science & Medical. Figured. A sort of mental poke got me feedback on the spells and stuff in it. “Huh, yes. Why do you ask?”

15-1’s dark skin didn’t show bruises easily, so I wasn’t sure whether she had been having trouble sleeping. I hoped not though—I didn’t know what I would do if she got into something that left her with nightmares—anything that would give her nightmares would probably reduce me to a gibbering mess on the floor (so that meant setting Felicia on it).

“15-36. Our new transfer. A few bastards from 16C caused enough trauma to keep us all awake with the screaming. I was on my way to try and get something from S&M, but then I saw you and decided to see if you could do anything first.”

Smart. Trying to get something from S&M was a fucking sidequest in itself, even when they weren’t aggressively interested in keeping you in their clutches for as long as possible.

“Right.” I decided, getting up, “I can’t deal with the cause of the nightmares, but I can keep them away for a while. I’ll come over right before curfew, sound alright to you?”

“Thank you, sir.” 15-36 said, looking far more relieved than any preteen should ever need to, “I already need to listen to you…but, I owe you one.”

Uh. This was getting uncomfortable really fast, so I scratched my head and said, “It’s no trouble for me…look, just keep an ear out and I’ll call it even, okay?”

She nodded, “Alright, sir.”

* * *

Unlike me, however, Felicia was not content to simply treat the symptoms.

“So there are individuals who abuse their strength to hurt the weak.” She paced in the training simulation (our current barracks, unlike 15A’s, were filled with unfriendly ears), “But the Restrictors don’t stop them despite their detrimental effect on military discipline.”

Felicia paused, eyes narrowing, “Because they want us to fight each other and play into the rule of the strong over the weak—very well, if that’s what they want…”

She sketched out her plan: if the Restrictors turned a blind eye towards dominance displays, then we would use dominance displays to deal with the worst offenders. I pointed out that while the Restrictors turned a blind eye when people played by their unwritten rules, anything more blatantly challenging to the current order of things would probably bring them down on us like Thor’s hammer.

Felicia grudgingly agreed, then suggested that we package it to make it a bit more acceptable—us deciding to accept Deepground philosophy would probably make Restrictors willing to sacrifice a few thugs and let us act a bit more freely.

That then segued into a discussion on how to choose acceptable targets and stage believable scenes, and between the two of us, we figured out something doable.

We may have latched on to the whole murder thing a bit too strongly, but can you blame us? We finally got a problem that we could solve, with something as simple as violence even, so we seized the opportunity to not feel powerless and passive with both hands, even if it was brutal and bloody. Besides, after spending almost a year in this underground, upside-down, absolutely insane world, we had already becoming worryingly desensitized to death and suffering, especially when it involved our enemies.

I could only hope that we would still be recognizably human if—no, when we got out.

Soon after we began our evil extermination campaign, word got around the bottom ranks that if you had a problem, we were your best chances of fixing it. As a result, our hitlist grew, we started organizing stuff like weapon exchanges, and I found myself providing an alternative healing service and distributing the spawned Cure Materia.

* * *

Then came a more complicated problem.

"Why is it that everyone around here is an asshole?" I complained to Felicia, "Seriously, food theft of all things? I mean, look at the rations—who the hell would want more of them?"

"That is a problem." She grimaced, "And unlike other forms of poor behavior, this can't just be solved with copious amounts of violence. They have leverage."

"Also, we need to get replacement food. Our choices are reporting to the Restrictors, asking for help from Science, taking someone else's food, raiding the stores, or resorting to cannibalism, but I don’t think we’re that far gone yet.”

Felicia snorted, "And that's if we manage to find out where the ration storage is. Neither of us were ever assigned to supply duty, were we?"

"Nope. And it'll take a bit longer to find out just who knows the location, and even longer to figure out a plan of attack." I grumbled, "There isn't any solution here."

... unless..."Wait a sec, I think that I have an idea."

"What is it?"

"Remember the spider silk we confiscated? That had to come from somewhere, and it's not standard issue. I remember sis telling me about the Nibelheim Mako caves, and those were supposed to be teeming with life even in the presence of natural Mako."

"Verde." Felicia caught on fast, "Are you suggesting that we hunt and eat cave animals?"

"Yeah?" It was a perfectly sound idea, "I mean, my dad brought home stuff like weird mushrooms and also what I thought was spider crab, but in retrospect it was pretty likely that there wasn't any 'crab' to it... I'm not going to try mushrooms, I can’t tell a portobello from a dapperling, and I’d rather not risk cave fishing, but I'm pretty sure spider will always be spider."

"But spider is a bit..." The city girl gestured, trying to express her city-ness at the idea of eating bugs. Point to Felicia for not making a face though, I did the first time I realized dad was bringing home creepy-crawlies to the table.

I grinned, "Oh come on! You’ve been to fancy-schmancy parties and eaten loads of crab, this is just another type of anthrops—arthrodop—antpod-whatsits!"

“Arthropods, Verde.” Felicia corrected, “They still sound disgusting though.”

“Can’t be worse than the ration bars though.”

“There’s also the problem of how you’re going to cook them.” She tried.

“Easy.” I waggled my fingers, “Fira.”

She groaned, “Fine.”

As we learned in class, Mako mutated animals, but knowing that in theory and seeing spiders larger than your head were two different things. My sword felt a whole lot shorter than I’d like at this point.

Alright.

I stabbed. And missed.

The spider scurried away but it was already the third of this evening and I refused to return empty-handed. Fuck it, magic it was—but the Ice moved out of my range at that moment, leaving…Lightning.

I bit my lip. The last time I used Lightning—not thinking about it. I needed that spider.

I rushed forward.

Don’t think.

The smell of burned hair (a few too many spars left me very familiar with it) entered my nose. Good. I picked the corpse up by a leg. It weighed about as much as my sword, and the charred bristles poked at my skin.

I shuddered, then got a better grip on the thing. One wouldn’t be enough to feed everyone. I’d need at least half a dozen.

Fuck my life.

* * *

Felicia stared at the happily chomping away teenagers huddled around my tiny fire. “It’s just because they are hungry.” She insisted, “And because they haven’t tasted anything else. Those are the only reasons why they like bugs.”

“You sure?” I smirked, offering her a segment of roasted leg, “They don’t taste as good as I remember, but don’t diss it ‘til you’ve tried it. Come on.”

My partner gingerly took a bite.

“It’s…crunchy.” She said wetly, once she finished chewing, “Also a bit burnt, like…like mom’s bacon.”

“Your mom’s bacon was burnt?” That didn’t sound good enough to make Felicia cry, but now that she had brought _before_ up, I felt homesick too.

Felicia shoved me, hard, as if she was trying to shove pain away, “Mom wasn’t a good cook at all! Bacon and eggs were about all she could make, but she still tried instead of just getting takeout because home-cooked meals are made with love—and I’ll never get to eat them again because she’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.” I got out, before I felt tears welling up too. What was missing from the spider was salt and herbs and _love_ ; Dad’s jokes and mom’s gentleness and the smell of woodsmoke and the quiet rustle of my sister’s embroidery, the way that we ate spiders as a family and felt safe and warm and bright instead of cold and wary in oppressive darkness.

Felicia bit down viciously on her spider. “Thank you. It’s alright. I’ve already cried for mom, and Rain helped me give her a proper burial, even though I was in the labs.”

“—wait a second, Rain?”

I was oversensitized to names by now, because apart from Felicia and I, the only people with names were the ones to watch out for, Hojo and Scarlet and the Researchers in Science and Medical. It couldn’t be Rain—she was sixteen, and she had just started university two years before—when I was taken. But Rein? Reyne? Rayne?

“Doctor Yakushi Reyne.” Felicia murmured, gaze far off, “She told me about Nibelheim’s mythology, about how Odin came from there with his wolves and crows, wandering grey-cloaked. Speaking riddles and seeking power, taking his pick of the honorable dead. She taught me how to bring a soul past the edge, to send them onwards to Valhalla, how to guide my mother deep into the earth, so that she would not be burned away in a Reactor. She gave me fennel bonbons, when Odin tried to take control—they worked.”

The girl’s gaze hardened, “I might never be able to have my mom’s cooking again, even _when_ we escape, but I will get some more bonbons from her, and get Shinra to buy me crepes, and try the grown-up drinks that dad keeps locked in the cabinet, and maybe go with you to visit your parents and try all your weird mountain foods because _we will be free_.”

“Yeah.” I said thickly, “We’ll go see my parents, and we’ll go mushroom hunting, and dad will cook spiders his way, and I’ll get Rain to trap us some fish, and we’ll also have crepes on a skyscraper, and you will show me around the city, and we’ll probably try to sneak around your dad’s secret police because we have superpowers now, and we’ll break a few rules because that’ll be okay. Promise?”

Calloused fingers gripped mine, “Promise.”


	6. Chapter 6

After a couple of weeks, maybe a month, we had settled into a routine, killing the really really terrible soldiers in Deepground to reduce our Average Environmental Horribleness, bribing our poor, deprived comrades with Nightmare Cuisine™, and figuring out just how far each Restrictor could be pushed. The nicest was North, by the way. He usually dealt with the poor sods who had been turned into mindless attack dogs—I'm being literal here, the Mongrels were people who had gone through enhancements which overpowered rational thought with instinct—so maybe having the opportunity to actually talk to people who understood what he was saying put him in a good mood.

He was still a Restrictor though.

"Sir." Felicia saluted sharply as he came into the training room we were using to drill 15-1 and her subordinates on the finer points of Fireball Formations.

"You two, follow me. 15, clean up after you finish." North waited for us to catch up, then led us off at a brisk walk, which was almost a jog for us when we were more than a head shorter than him.

"Sir, our assignment?" I asked, pretty confident that he, unlike West, wouldn't mind a bit of polite curiosity.

"You have been chosen for a great honor." He said.

Yeah, I bet.

But that tone meant that we shouldn't push further. To my Materia-sense, Felicia's Odin glowed brighter—she was on guard too.

We took the lift downwards, then the train-transport for two stops. We were going towards one of the Arenas, and...

Behind North's back, I flashed a pair of military hand signals at Felicia. _23 enhanced_.

She gave me a sharp nod. _Got it._

The entrance was before us now.

North stepped aside to let us enter. As we passed him, he said, "Do Shinra proud."

* * *

The Restrictor of the East loomed above us on a viewing balcony.

“You have all shown yourselves to have potential.” He intoned, “And from the worthy among you a new rank shall be formed. Prove yourselves, and earn the title _Tsviet_.”

We were among the smallest. Most of the rest of the people in the arena were bulky, hulking men, armed with swords thicker than my thigh, but on the other side of the arena were three kids, one white-haired, one red-haired, and the last black-haired, standing out among the earthy colors and bulk of the rest. Weiss, Rosso, and Nero. In the future they’d given Vincent Valentine a run for his money.

The terrain was painfully basic as well, just a few piles of sandbags scattered around for cover on a beaten-earth floor. There was no room for Felicia's tactical genius there, and she said as much, then asked me for my read of the situation.

“Avoid the ones who look our age.” I muttered to Felicia, “They’re dangerous, especially the black-haired one, I think he can pull off AOE attacks.”

“Got it.” She whispered back, “Start with the group on our ten?”

“Yeah.” I agreed, “The taller guy doesn’t have Materia equipped. Watch out for the one with a scar—he has Fire and Lightning.”

“In your range?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to show my cards too fast.”

“Alright, I’m not transforming until I get a better idea of the circumstances either. You have your backup knife?”

“Yep.”

“Begin.” The Restrictor ordered overhead.

And it was a blur of blood and fire and ice and steel and arcing electricity. Felicia grew into the armored and horned form of Odin to deal with anyone who came close, while I hijacked all Materia except _those ones_ in the vicinity to kill their owners and everyone around them. I was probably not even a teenager yet, but death came easily to me now. I didn’t feel anything about that. Or about not feeling anything about that. Or about that. Or about—well, you get the idea. No feelings about killing or the results of killing. Zip. Nil. Nada.

* * *

In the end, we were five, all the rest dead of fire and bullets and sharp and pointy things, the two boys mirroring me and Felicia while the girl stood apart. We sized each other up across a field of corpses, none of us willing to make the first move—

“Adequate.” Came that evil voice from behind me. “At attention, SOLDIERS.”

Even Felicia didn’t dare defy him. Weapons came down and heels clicked together. The Restrictor surveyed us, pleased, then ordered, “Down.”

I dropped to one knee, hearing the crunch and swish of the others doing the same. The Restrictor drew his gunblade. I tensed, memories of that weapon cutting flesh and breaking bones in my mind—but I couldn’t muster the courage to move—disobey.

“You were once called Felicia.” The Restrictor said to Felicia, probably since she was the closest to him, doing something that I couldn't see. But my senses were sharp enough to tell that he was moving his arms, doing something and he probably wouldn't be able to stop me if I launched a surprise attack—“I award you your name again, and dub thee Felicia the Gold. Rise, and take your place as a Colored Tsviet.”

I sensed Felicia’s clenched jaw, but she ducked her head and complied.

I felt the weight of the gunblade on my shoulder, “You were once called Verde.” The Restrictor told me, “I award you your name again, and dub thee Verde the Emerald. Rise, and take your place as a Colored Tsviet.”

I went to stand by Felicia’s side.

“You were once called Rosso. I award you your name again, and dub thee Rosso the Crimson. Rise, and take your place as a Colored Tsviet.”

“You were once called Nero. I award you your name again, and dub thee Nero the Sable. Rise, and take your place as a Colored Tsviet.”

“You were once called Weiss. I award you your name again, and dub thee Weiss the Immaculate White Emperor. Rise, and take your place as the first among the Colored Tsviets, greatest of Deepground’s SOLDIERs.”

I watched the Deepground-born trio out of the corner of my eye. Nero stuck to Weiss’s side, while Rosso was openly examining us two Topsiders, attention upon our injuries and our gear and our weak points.

Yeah, well she was bleeding heavily from her right leg and looked like she had a couple of crushed ribs plus a concussion. We could take her.

I glared back, trying to communicate my knowledge with my eyes.

“You will no longer drill or be bunked with the general forces, but rather receive training of higher quality. Enter, Argento.”

A Wutai woman in a crown and eyepatch and long trench coat came in from the door the Restrictor had used. In one hand, she held a large broadsword.

“She will be your instructor from hence onwards.” The Restrictor informed us. “Do your new rank honor.”

We were given a whole hallway, with individual rooms with doors on each side. The privacy was a reward, but I had grown used to sleeping with Felicia—not like that, get your minds out of the gutter—and it was comforting to be reminded that touch didn’t just bring pain. We hadn’t been informed of any bunking regulations though, so Felicia and I chose a pair of adjacent rooms and moved the bed in one to the other.

Weiss and Nero’s eyes gleamed at that, and then they copied us. Rosso had to room alone. Argento supervised, sword planted on the ground in front of her.

Finally, accommodations settled, we sized each other up. I could probably hit them all with status effects, given that there was a Time and a Bind in my range (which had grown to thirty meters). But I didn’t know how Nero’s shadows worked, precisely, and so there was that danger, and it wasn’t as if my casting was instant. They might be able to react. Felicia, on the other hand, would probably be at least temporarily immune to whatever they could throw at her for however long I could shore up her reserves with my own dregs, and odds were that her Limit Break could get rid of at least one of the three. That would leave us open to counterattack, however. Plus, we shouldn't make undue enemies.

At my shoulder, Felicia had arrived at the same conclusion that we should not initiate hostilities.

“You fight well.” I offered the trio.

“And you are fight strangely.” Weiss returned, moving his hands away from his holsters in a similar gesture of nonviolence, “A mage and a—you are not a Mongrel...Felicia. What are you?”

Felicia straightened, the conversation making her more comfortable, “I’m from Aboveground. A doctor planted a Summon in me to save my life instead of the Mongrel organs—I can take the Summon’s form in battle.”

“How interesting.” Rosso noted from where she was leaning on the doorframe of her room (we had doors!), “A Researcher who saves instead of destroys.”

“And yet she sent you here.” Argento cut in, surprising me with her low alto.

“I don’t think she did.” Felicia disagreed, “But even if she did, if she’s not as good as she seemed, there’s a reason why Deepground is beneath the ground. People wouldn’t let it exist if they knew it existed, even if they are scientists.”

“An intriguing preposition.” Nero acknowledged, surprisingly polite, “Perhaps we could discuss further.”

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is welcomed. If you find that the quality of my writing has lowered, or if if it's simply bad at some points, please tell me! I seek to improve!


End file.
